Pitch Perfect
by elephantmuffin
Summary: Molly has a bit of a weakness when it comes to Sherlock. Unfortunately (or fortunately) for her, he wants to find out what it is.
1. Chapter 1

"If he had been dead for as long as we were led to believe, there would be a significant amount of bloating caused by the buildup of hydrogen sulphide, carbon dioxide, and methane. Clearly, his wife is lying. I'd bring her in for questioning if I were you, Lestrade."

Just a few feet away, filling out paper work for her most recent autopsy, Molly couldn't help but wonder how a human being could make the accumulation of gases in a decaying corpse sound sexy.

But of course, if it were possible, Sherlock Holmes would possess the ability.

Molly Hooper wasn't stupid. She knew her obsession with the consulting detective was hopeless and, according to some of her friends, borderline pathetic. But, when the man himself was constantly sneaking up on her to use her lab equipment or "borrow" some poor souls left ear for some ambiguous experiment, she couldn't exactly distance herself from him. Not that she would ever want to do that. Unfortunately for the pathologist, the man in question possessed the trifecta of qualities that made Molly go weak in the knees:

The looks. The brain. And the voice.

Lestrade rolled his eyes but proceeded to call in the request as he walked out of the morgue. Sherlock lingered still examining the body with his magnifying glass.

Molly took a moment to glance over at him. While his ability to look positively fantastic in a suit and to solve crimes with what sometimes seemed like superhuman intelligence were all intriguing, his damn voice had to make the combination irresistible.

She watched him put up his magnifying glass and straighten his coat as he walked toward the door.

She finally let out a broken sign and put her pen down in defeat. She wasn't going to get any more work done this afternoon. She was thoroughly distracted and frustrated.

_Molly, you can't keep doing this… _She thought to herself as she straightened her back, feeling the muscles ache in protest to the hunched position she had been in for the past two hours.

She found that the more Sherlock appeared at Bart's the more distracted and prone to mistakes she found herself to be in her paperwork. She had to admit it was rather embarrassing that just being in the room with him for a few minutes caused her brain to short circuit except for its ability to weave marvelously detailed, blush-worthy fantasies about a certain tall, dark-haired individual.

She had been replaying one such fantasy, the one that involved her bent over her desk and him wielding his riding crop, when she heard a throat clear behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

As Sherlock began to push open the door on his way out of the St. Bart's morgue, he noticed two things. One: something was bothering Molly Hooper. And two: he just solved a case and he was already bored.

With a mischievous smile, he let the door shut and turned around only to notice Molly stretching her back and neck, no doubt stiff from being bent over her desk for a few hours with her terrible posture. But no, that couldn't be the only thing bothering her judging by that defeated sigh he'd heard as he was on his way out the door. Interest piqued, he decided that while he was currently case-less he might as well play a harmless little game of deduction with his favorite pathologist.

He quietly crept up behind her, glancing over her shoulder at the meticulously completed forms on her desk. He leant back giving her room to jump as he knew she would as he cleared his throat.

Molly gasped and in an ill-fated attempt to turn around and unseat herself, she overturned her desk chair. Sherlock laughed quietly to himself as he leant down to right the chair and Molly could practically feel the vibrations of that chuckle move through her.

"One would think a pathologist employed in a morgue wouldn't scare so easy," Sherlock quipped with a smirk.

It took a moment for Molly's brain to catch up with the fact that Sherlock had snuck up behind her, but once it did she swatted him on the arm.

"Sherlock! Where the hell did you come from?!"

Still smirking down at the annoyed pathologist, Sherlock sardonically replied, "Dear me, Molly. You must work on your observation skills. I never left."

Looking up at his attractive features, Molly was reminded of the thoughts she'd been entertaining before she had been so rudely interrupted. Realizing the object of her desire had never even left the room before she began fantasizing about him caused her to flush a peculiar shade of pink. Unfortunately for her, this did not go unnoticed.

Sherlock had observed the heavy breathing and dilated pupils from the moment she turned around to face him thinking that her reactions were caused by surprise. However, her flushed face and neck seemed to tell another tale. Yes, he had startled her but from the looks of her she was also aroused.

_Interesting…_

He took a step towards her and she took a step back bumping into the desk behind her. She tried to hold back a gasp as she felt his cool fingers on her throat. He could feel her already elevated pulse quicken as he noticed her fighting the urge to lean into his touch as her eyes closed.

_Very interesting…_

"Sherlock, what are you…" Molly managed before he leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"Quiet," he whispered firmly. His warm breath against her ear and neck making her shiver despite herself. Her eyes flashed open meeting his intense gaze as his hand moved to the back of her neck to weave into the tiny hairs that had fallen out of her ponytail.

"Whatever were you thinking about, Molly?" he asked, voice low with the tip of his nose touching hers, "And don't lie, I'll know."

His voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper but Molly stood rooted to the spot. She could smell peppermint on his breath and she couldn't help but let her gaze fall to his lips, a perfectly shaped cupid's bow.

"Please," he insisted, eyes softening. The tenderness in his voice and eyes caught her off guard and she found herself answering him in spite of herself.

"You," she breathed.


	3. Chapter 3

Admittedly, this was not Sherlock's preferred choice to stave off boredom. However, he'd always had a bit of a soft spot for Molly Hooper, finding her obvious crush on him oddly flattering and undeniable useful but this was different somehow. His lips were inches from hers and he didn't want to pull away. He decided to indulge himself for once.

"Really? What about me in particular?" he purred, voice dropping at least an octave. Molly had been staring into his eyes but was caught off guard again. While she was trying to pick her chin up off the proverbial floor, Sherlock continued.

"I'm only curious because, regrettably, I haven't been able to figure it all out myself. It is obvious that you find me physically attractive and my intelligence is probably a plus as you are a smart woman yourself. I just have this sense that there's more to it," he teased, lips close to her ear again. This time, however, he allowed his lips to graze her ear. She grasped the table behind her in an effort to stay upright as her legs began to go a bit wobbly.

"So, Molly, what is it about me keeps you up at night?" he drawled with a perfectly enunciated "t" at the end. He gently bit down on her ear lobe and she audibly gasped.

"Y-your voice…" she whimpered, turning an even brighter shade of pink than she thought physically possible. Sherlock chuckled darkly in response and moved his lips to plant a kiss against the sensitive flesh behind her ear.

"Hmm, well, that _is _rather fascinating. How about I try a little experiment?"

He moved back to look her in the eye and she nodded her head.

"I've got a deduction for you, Miss Hooper. You not only like the sound of my voice, you like when I tell you what to do, don't you?"

Molly nodded, closing her eyes trying to catch her breath. She would have found his spot-on observations infuriating if it they weren't so goddamn arousing. However, this was nearly a fantasy come true for her and she was going to take full advantage of it, if only she could remember how to phonate.

"Now, now, use your words, Molly," he taunted.

"Yes," she managed despite feeling near hyperventilation.

"Good girl," he literally growled, pale eyes turned dark. He was enjoying this as much as she was and the realization was thrilling.

The fingers he had gently weaved into her hair tightened minutely, effectively pulling her head back to make her meet his gaze.

"Now, I'm going to tell you what I want you to do. Are you still interested in this little experiment?" Sherlock inquired calmly.

"Sherlock, please," she pleaded. He smirked but loosened his grip on her hair to remove the hair tie holding up her ponytail.

"Then by all means, let us proceed. What I would like for you to do, Molly, is tell me what you were imagining me doing to you before I so rudely interrupted your daydream," his eyes glinted mischievously.

"How could you possibly know I thinking about…" Molly gasped before Sherlock interjected.

"Do remember who you're talking to, dear. How could I not know? Now, answer me."

She swallowed hard and began to heed his request, "I was imagining myself bent over my desk."

"Yes, and?" he asked impatiently.

"You had pushed my skirt up to my waist and my knickers down to my knees," she looked up to meet his gaze, beginning to enjoy his reactions to her fantasy. Emboldened, she continued.

"And you were gently caressing my spread inner thighs with the tip of your riding crop."

With that, Sherlock inhaled sharply. There was more to sweet little Molly Hooper than met the eye, even for him. He decided he was rather fond of this little hidden part of her personality. He took a moment to compose himself before he spoke.

"Thank you, Miss Hooper, that's enough for now. I regrettably did not bring in my crop today so we'll have to wait to indulge in that particular fantasy of yours but I do have something else in mind."

Molly leaned in closer to him, fully relinquishing the bit of control she'd had when she related her fantasy to him. She held her breath in anticipation.

"Now, I know how fond you are of hearing my voice," Sherlock observed. As he spoke, he unbuttoned her lab coat.

"However, I must tell you that I know of a better use for my mouth."

He pushed her lab coat halfway down her arms, effectively binding them to her side, and pushed her skirt up to her waist exposing her knickers.

"I only have one more question for you, Molly," he paused coming down to his knees before her, face inches away from her sensible cotton knickers.

"Exactly how wet are you for me?" he purred.

_God, his voice is sinful. Two can play that game, Mr. Holmes._

"Soaked," she moaned.

"I thought as much," he murmured, pulling off her knickers to see for himself.


End file.
